Keiran barely contained a sigh of exasperation as the phone rang. It had been non-stop all day. Here it was afterhours, he was alone in the office, and still, it didn’t stop.

Reaching out, he hit the button for the speaker.

“Finnegan, here.”

“It’s Tony.”

He glanced at the clock. Nine o’clock. San Antonio was an hour ahead. “You’re working late.”

“Since your office closed hours ago, I can say the same about you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have twins, a new baby girl, and a wife waiting for me at home.”

“Megan is upstairs putting them down for the night. At least I’m home, my friend.”

He’d known Cap Rossi for years. Skilled, tough as nails, and highly respected, when the CEO and founder of Rossi Security, Inc. recruited him after he’d left the service, Keiran hadn’t hesitated. He’d worked for him in San Antonio for a few years, and when they expanded to LA and offered him a percentage buy-in, he’d jumped on it. Now, along with being partners in the Rossi branch here they co-owned the bondage club across the street. Keiran also considered Cap a good friend.

“Home for me isn’t as sweet as what you have waiting for you, Cap.”

“Yeah, you need to do something about that.”

Keiran had been thinking along those lines more often of late. Only when did he have the time? LA was bigger than San Antonio; he expected the new location to grow fast, but not at warp speed.

The clients here were very different, most in the entertainment industry and in need of security systems for their multi-million-dollar mansions. Some were looking for personal protection and they’d already investigated several stalker cases the overworked police departments didn’t have time for. They also did venue security when they needed beefed-up protection for special events. Then there were the high-profile stars wanting their cheating spouses caught in the act to activate the non-payout infidelity clauses on their prenups. Clients with deep pockets paid big bucks to ensure their safety and mitigate the financial risk from their infidelities. According to Eric, who doubled as the agency’s CEO, in addition to taking on investigations and running the club, their profits were through the roof.

But these types of cases took manpower, something they couldn’t seem to get enough of. Turnover wasn’t the problem; they couldn’t hire and train them fast enough to keep up with the influx of cases. Working cases seven days a week left him little time to himself, let alone to enjoy the perks of owning a sex club and finding a submissive woman to settle down with as Cap had.

“Talk to our CFO who’s sitting on employee requisitions,” Keiran muttered.

“Do what I do, don’t ask permission. Bring on the men you need and let your staff work out the details afterward.”

“Easy for you to say when Eric’s thirteen hundred miles away. His office is across the hall from mine, and I have to listen to him bitch.”

“Yeah, there is that,” Cap said in sympathy. He’d had Dupree to deal with when they’d both been working in San Antonio. They shouldn’t complain, the man knew his way around investments and expense reports which had made them all wealthy men, but he could also pinch a penny tighter than Ebenezer Scrooge.

“But you didn’t call to commiserate with me over the skinflint ways of Eric Dupree.”

“No, I wanted to thank you for locking down Cassell so quickly. I still can’t believe we were providing security service to a drug trafficker and indirectly made it possible for him to move hundreds of pounds of narcotics between here and LA.”

“As soon as you learned of his involvement, you took measures to shut it down, Cap. His corruption does not reflect on you.”

“That we took so long to discover it doesn’t look good; and that it went on right under my nose makes me sick.”

Silence fell on Tony’s end of the line. They’d shut down a major drug cartel operating in south Texas, only to have this fall in their laps not long after. Keiran knew he took this personally; he’d heard the fury in his voice when he’d called.

Roger Cassell, a local furniture manufacturer, had contracted with Rossi to upgrade their warehouse security after a series of break-ins. What they were really after was protection for their drug distribution center—alarm systems, perimeter alerts, and video surveillance.

Tony hadn’t thought it unusual; they’d been in operation for decades and made quality furniture. What he didn’t know about was their side line—cocaine, heroin, and meth—which they shipped inside their legitimate products to retail stores across the country.

It turned out three were in LA, owned by Cassell, and managed by an underling who got greedy and was also implicated in the two-city sting, his cousin, Martin Lopez.

Working with the San Antonio and local police departments jointly, they’d netted thirty-four illegal firearms, over five million in cash, along with ten kilos of heroin, and twenty-five kilos each of cocaine and methamphetamine. But their drug pipeline had been operating for years, and the impact on the families of San Antonio in terms of abuse, addiction, and lost lives was unmeasurable. It’s what Tony Rossi, family man, father of three and native San Antonian found the hardest to bear.

“You need not thank me, Cap. Your team was as integral to the arrests. Let’s chalk this up to another win for the good guys.”

“Yeah,” the man agreed, though to Keiran, he didn’t sound convinced. “Want me to talk to Eric about your staffing?”

“No. I’ll handle it. He can be a pain in the ass, but he’s reasonable. And, even though he’s an inch taller, I outweigh him by twenty pounds, and since he has seven years on me, I can kick his ass if need be.”

“Don’t hurt him too bad, or you’ll find yourself running the club while he heals.”

Echoing Cap’s earlier words, Keiran stated, “There is that.”

This got him a chuckle before Tony said goodnight.

He’d no sooner logged back into his computer which had gone to sleep while they’d spoken when the phone rang again.

With a long-suffering groan, he answered, “Finnegan here.”

“I know you’re there. The question is why?”

Speak of the devil. Keiran would have recognized the wry comment if not the voice.

“Paperwork ain’t gonna do itself, Dupree.”

“Neither are submissives going to restrain, spank, and fuck themselves, my friend.”

He dropped his pen and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “Another night.”

“That’s what you said last week, and the week before, and the week before.”

“Are you keeping tabs on me? That’s intrusive even for you.”

He heard Eric’s grunt before he replied, “We keep attendance logs, which you’d remember if you dropped by the club every once in a while.”

“I’d like to get home and in bed before midnight. Is there a point to your call?”

“You owe me about six months’ worth of DM duty. I’ve got three club Masters out of town. It’s time to pay up, bud.”

His sigh was audible. “I should wrap up my current case on Friday. I’ll come by that evening.”

“And Saturday,” Eric insisted.

“I had planned to get some sleep.”

Another grunt came through the speaker, one of disgust. “You’re too young to spend your weekends in bed alone.”

Keiran silently groaned; he’d heard this from his friend before. “I might squeeze in more DM time if you’d approve the staff requisitions I sent you two weeks ago. We’re flooded with new cases.”

Eric sighed. “When are we not? As soon as we train a new group, we need more.”

“Which keeps our bank accounts healthy.”

There were nine owners between the two business lines, Rossi Security, Inc., and Club Decadence, but the founding six, all retired military, were back in San Antonio. He had a team of trained professionals working for him, but Eric only had a few paid staff and relied mostly on volunteers from the membership. Some of the submissives offset their membership fees, which were significant, by working in the lounge and as receptionists, and Eric relied on some of the experienced Doms, whom they called club Masters, to help monitor the club, Keiran included.

“I assumed being in LA among the rich and famous, our caseload would be mostly celebrity security,” Eric commented, sounded a might tired and overextended himself.

“You’re not the only one. After the mess in San Antonio, I was hoping for a few boring investigations where I didn’t have to don a flak jacket.”

“The Lopez case got messy,” his friend stated quietly.

“I expected illegal drugs and gun running being this close to the border, but not by way of Texas. Who knew they’d have roots way out here? And despite the eighty-plus arrests the LAPD made earlier this year, it was barely a minor blip in the scope of their operation.”

“You’d have thought his arrest would have had more of an impact.”

“Yeah,” Keiran agreed tiredly, “but it did nothing to affect the legal ports of entry, where the vast majority of the shit is entering in the first place. Besides, I don’t think he was the top man.”

“Shit is right. I thought we’d get away from some of it with the move.” He laughed humorlessly. “What was I thinking? But that case is closed and it’s back to protecting divas and providing security to the stars.”

“But Rossi’s reputation is a double-edged sword. Everyone from divas to detectives is knocking on our door. At least you drew the long straw and got the club.” Keiran looked at the stacks of files and asked, “Want to trade?”

“Fuck no. I get to combine work and pleasure. Which brings me to the point of my call, you need to get over to Decadence more and enjoy the perks of the job. Life’s too short. Soon you’ll wake up a dried-up old man in his forties, like me.”

“Dried up, my ass. You run circles around the younger guys when you’re in the field. I wish I could use you more.”

“The numbers ain’t gonna crunch themselves, man.”

Keiran chuckled, getting his words turned back around on him.

“Which brings us back to those requisitions. Louise, our new office manager, is so afraid of your artic death glare, she won’t process any new hires without one. And fuck you for hiring her while I was off on a mission. She thinks she reports to you, instead of me.”

This time Eric chuckled. “She’s a smart girl. I knew she’d be perfect for the job. And, she’s submissive, she just hasn’t allowed herself to admit it yet.”

“She’s also young, beautiful, and single, working with a bunch of testosterone-charged ex-military and law enforcement types. One of them will steal her away, watch and see.”

“Shit,” Eric muttered.

“Yeah. Next time, I’m doing the hiring, and I’ll be looking for a ball busting Domme who won’t turn anyone’s head. In the meantime, sign the damn requisitions. I’ve got four guys champing at the bit to get started, but they expect to get paid.”

“I’ll see to it first thing in the morning.”

Keiran relaxed, although four wasn’t nearly enough, it was a start. “The team would be obliged, as would I. I’d like to enjoy my hard-earned salary occasionally, when not completely exhausted.”

“So, I can expect you Friday night?”

“As my sainted grandmother always said, if the good Lord is willing and the creek don’t rise.”

“We say that in Texas,” Eric commented, his forehead creasing even as his lips twitched with amusement. “I didn’t know it was also an Irish expression.”

“It’s not. Despite the accent and hair, which I inherited from my father, my mother was born and bred in North Carolina.”

He nodded, grinning now. “The subs will be happy to see you. They’ve been asking about you. As Val says, they’re all agog over your brogue and melt when you turn your Irish green eyes their way.” The last part was said with a healthy dose of disgust.

“A brogue is Scottish, my man, and only your Val would use the word agog.”

“I’ll let you advise her of both when we see you Friday at eight.”

“Slave driver,” Keiran muttered, though good-naturedly. It had been weeks since he’d been to the club and even though he’d be monitoring, he was already looking forward to the break. And if that creek didn’t rise, he’d squeeze in a scene with a warm and willing sub after midnight, even if he had to drink a pot of coffee and take a quadruple dose of vitamin E.

“Seriously, though, thanks,” Eric replied. “Without enough DMs I was afraid I’d have to shut down the theme rooms and end up with a riot on my hands.”

“Even more reason to get those requisitions to Louisa, the four men I want to hire all asked about membership at the club.”

After he disconnected, he looked at the pile of paperwork on his desk. Contracts in need of reviewing and signing, invoices needing the same, and his calendar was full of appointments with more potential clients. He was a field man, had been ever since he’d enlisted and for the ten years he’d served in the ARW, the special forces division of Ireland’s Army. A desk job wasn’t what he had in mind when he said yes to Cap and took this gig. He needed to get these new men trained quickly and hire an assistant to help with some of this administrative crap, so he could get back out there, close their backlog of cases, and find himself a sweet subbie who made him obnoxiously happy like Eric had.

At thirty-five, a revolving door of submissives was getting old. Having one to come home to after a mission and warming his bed at night was becoming more appealing with each passing year. And he wanted kids, several, and would like that seen to before he was too old and busted to enjoy it.

Both dreams were a good way off, especially if the only time he could carve out at the club was for DM duty.

With a long drawn-out, tired sigh, he reached for the tallest stack, the contracts, and got started on the four hours of paperwork ahead of him.